


The Lone Wolf Was A Myth

by sunflowerspaceman



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Found Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Paul and Pat are married but that’s not the main like, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Scars, because it will be a slow burn, definitely going to be tomtord later but y’all have to SIT HERE and WAIT, focus or anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22597963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerspaceman/pseuds/sunflowerspaceman
Summary: Tord likes to think he’s gotten used to this werewolf thing despite being dragged into it kicking and screaming (as he is often pulled into things). He gets out of Enfield with Paul every full moon and Patryck releases them to the woods. No one gets hurt, and all is well.Then he wakes up next to a kid. A kid with a very familiar brand on his chest.
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING FOR VOMITING IN THIS CHAPTER.....I WANTED TO PUT IT IN THE TAGS BUT THEN I REMEMBERED THATS A KINK AND WANTED TO CRAWL OUT OF MY SKIN
> 
> Also hi. Summary is garbage from a toilet. Anyway I’m gonna take the liberty of fucking up these boys.

Tord wakes up with a pounding headache and fresh scars across his body. He’s damp from the morning dew. 

God. They need to figure out something better than monthly camping trips. 

He drags himself up so he’s sitting and nope, his body does not like that at fucking all. Whatever the fuck he ate last night makes a return appearance against the grass. 

He’s tired.

He rolls away from the pool of meaty, bloody vomit, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Every molecule of his body aches. He has to sit there for a while. It probably wouldn’t serve him much to move more anyway, not when— 

Wait. Who...is that?

Oh god. Fuck, did he—

Tord drags himself over to the figure, reaching out to roll them over. They look so young. Maybe 18 at most. Relief floods his system when he sees their chest is still rising; they’re fairly unharmed, except for a few fresh scars, and…

“Oh…” He traces his fingers over a familiar looking brand on the kid’s chest as they stir back to life. 

“Where…”

“Shh, hey, you’re okay, kid. Just relax.”

They try to sit up. Tord winces as they throw up all over their chest, eyes bulging. “Oh god—”

“It’s not human, I think.” Tord tries to placate. “Just lay down. This is your first, I’m guessing.”

“First  _ what _ ?”

“First full moon.” Man, this kid really doesn’t know what’s going on. Poor bastard. “I’m sorry.”

The kid’s head jerks up. Terrified eyes flicker over Tord, coming to rest on his chest. Tord’s heart aches. This feels all too familiar. 

“Did they—”

“Heads up.” A pile of clothes hits Tord in the back of his head. He’s been found. Not like he was hard to find. 

The clothes fall in his lap, and he’s looking up at Paul and Patryck. Paul looks as awful as Tord feels right now, while Pat...well, he just looks tired. Poor guy. He’s got two furry little problems to deal with every month. 

Tord gladly accepts Paul’s hand, glad for the support when he stands. He has to take a breather before pulling the clothes on. His favorite hoodie, a t-shirt, boxers and some sweatpants. He’s still barefoot, but it’s better than being buck ass nude. Besides, at least he’s not suffering alone.

Paul sniffs the air. His nose wrinkles in disgust. “You threw up too?” 

“Unfortunately.” Tord motions towards him. “Give us one of those cigarettes?”

Paul silently holds the box out, and the two sit down and light up. Pat frowns. He doesn’t say anything, though, which is nice. Tord knows he doesn’t like their smoking. But he does notice his eyes softening just a when he catches sight of the kid.

“Oh...oh dear.” Patryck kneels down, gently brushing blond hair out of their face. “Do you have anyone to come get you?” 

The kid noticeably tenses as they shake their head—Patryck has that effect on people. Tord thinks it’s to do with his intensity. He truly does mean well, he’s just…well. Tord can’t quite describe it. 

Tord has to sit back down from a sudden dizzy spell. Almost blacks out. But he’s on eye level with the kid now, for the most part, which makes it a little less awkward when he asks, “What’s your name, little one?”

“Y-Yuu. My name—name is Yuu.” He’s shaking. Tord sighs.

“Patryck, do we have any blankets in the car?”

Pat nods, looking towards Yuu. “Would you like to come with us, Yuu? You look starved.”

Another sympathy pain. God, this poor fucking kid. Of course he looks starved, he probably _was_. 

“We should hurry back anyway, Edd and Matt can only hold down the fort for so long.” Is all he can manage to shake himself out of his thoughts. 

It takes way too long for Tord to make it to the car. He keeps stumbling, legs too shaky to actually hold him up for long. Paul is hardly faring any better. The pair end up leaning on each other for support, desperate to keep themselves from toppling over. Yuu is doing even worse, he’s being almost dragged by Patryck, looking just about ready to pass out again

The car ride back to London isn’t pleasant either. Car rides after full moons never have been. The kid is passed out again, but Tord and Paul spend nearly the whole time vomiting into thick black trash bags. If Tord’s head wasn’t so foggy he’d feel bad for stinking up Patryck’s car like this. As it is he can only think to expel the half digested meat and fur in his stomach. He doesn’t even realize the car has stopped until the door swings open and he feels cool London air hit his face. 

“Come on, Red, out of the car. You need proper rest.” Patryck’s voice is calling him, but he just wants to curl up in this car and sleep without a care in the world. His chest is heaving, and he feels a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. His eyes flutter closed briefly, and he tries his best to collect himself enough to move. Finally, he manages to stumble out of the car, a little bit of vomit managing to spill out onto the pavement from the trash bag. Tord catches Pat’s momentary look of disgust. Gingerly, he takes the bag and places it in the dumpster. 

“You head inside, I’ll get Paul and the kid.”

Tord grunts in agreement, leaving the husbands alone with the kid. Paul doesn’t like Pat fretting over him when others can see. Well, to be completely honest, Paul doesn’t like Pat fussing over him at all, from what Tord can tell, but he’s learned to accept it.

He makes it into the kitchen. He thinks Matt mutters something but he’s too tired to ask what it was, especially when ice cold hands steady him to keep him from falling down. He’s guided to a chair. One of those hands starts petting his hair and god that feels nice. A pleased rumble escapes him, and Matt laughs. 

He hears creaking next to him, and what smells like Paul rests his head on his back. 

“Matt, did you lock the store up?” He hears Patryck ask.

“...no. I forgot.”

Matt’s hand retreats from Tord’s hair, and Tord lets out a huff. Couldn’t Edd just do it? Or Tom, when he got here? He could smell him a block away. The smell of smoke and copper and vodka is unmistakable, even from...what, two blocks?

More footsteps exit, then reenter, and Tord is hit with the kid’s smell. There’s something distinct about it underneath the painfully familiar scents of mold and blood and burnt flesh. The steps start to creak, and he’s not quite paying attention but he does know Patryck’s footsteps. Probably getting the guy a bath and some of the spare clothes from when Tord was 19. They’ll still be a little big, given how thin the kid looks, and how Tord’s almost always been a brick shithouse barring extenuating circumstances, but they’ll be better than nothing. 

When Matt comes back, Tord shifts. He rests his head in his friend’s lap and Paul’s head in his own. Matt, of course, doesn’t question it, just runs his fingers through Tord’s hair. The post full moon sickness is starting to fade, Tord could probably get up and eat if he weren’t so content like this. It’s nice. The scents and presence of his pack mates are comforting. He nuzzles Matt’s hand, breathing in the scent of blood and soil and rosewater. It’s calming. Familiar.

He smells Patryck re-entering the room. “Tord,” he starts, voice gentle and quiet, “Do you think later today you could talk with Yuu? Since…” He trails off, but Tord has a feeling the ending to that sentence is “you’ve been through what he definitely has.” 

There’s barely a moment of consideration before Tord answers, “Of course.” He was planning too anyway, though his stomach twists into knots at the thought of it. What will he say? Will the kid even want to talk about it?  _ Can _ he even bring himself to talk about it? It’s been twelve years, yeah, but he still has a hard time talking about it with anyone but Paul and his counsellor, and even then he can’t be completely honest with the latter without being considered delusional. 

Matt ruffles his hair, speaking softly. “You’ll do fine, Tord. You—”

The door crashes open, cutting Matt off. The loud noise causes a spike of pain right through Tord’s skull, sending another wave of nausea rippling through him. He groans, “Thomas,  _ please _ use the one brain cell you have and don’t slam the door.” 

“Sorry, Clifford, didn’t realize you were still dealing with that full moon hangover of yours.” He’s such a shit. That innocent tone wouldn’t fool anyone, and Tord can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face. His ire is quickly sated, though, when Tom’s warm hand scratches just behind his ear as he passes by—his favorite spot, and Tom knows it. “G’mornin, Patryck, Matt, Paul. Where’s Edd?” 

“I think he’s moping about the basement again—”

Screams ring out from the upstairs. Tord pushes Paul off of him and flies to his feet, immediately regretting the sudden movement when his knees buckle. 

“Ah. I assume he’s found our guest.” Patryck seems almost amused as he watches Tord cling to the back of a chair, trying to regain control of his faculties enough to get upstairs. “Please don’t break your nose again Tord, I don’t want any blood on my nice clean floors.”

Fucker. Tord shoots him a look, and another one to Tom, who’s muffling laughter behind his hand.  _ Unsuccessfully _ . 

“I’m going to check on Yuu, make sure he isn’t too traumatized from Edd.” He grumbles, slowly drawing himself up to his feet. He wobbles a bit with each step, but as long as he doesn’t move too fast he can keep his balance.

“No, no, Tord, you’re going to crack your head open.” It doesn’t take much effort for Pat to pull him back into a chair. “I’ll check on him. You stay here or have Matt help you into the living room.”

“But—”

“I said  _ later _ when I asked you to talk to him, didn’t I? Wait until he’s less overwhelmed by all this.”

Tord gives him a tired snort. “I didn’t stop being overwhelmed for three months.”

Pat rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You know damn well what I mean, Tord.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Tord slumps back in his seat. “Can you at least let him know I’ll be up to chat later?”

He’s answered with a nod, and Pat disappears up the stairs.  _ This must be weird for him _ , Tord thinks. It was certainly weird for Tord, being on the other side of this sequence of events. He hopes the song and dance goes better for Yuu than it did for him. Without thinking his hand moves to rub at his inner arm—and is caught by Paul, who grabs his wrist. 

“Relax, kiddo. You just met this kid and you’re getting all worked up over him.” He looks vaguely amused. Tord wrinkles his nose at the nickname. 

The rest of the day, as prescribed by Patryck, is eggy bread and unsweetened mint tea “until you two can get up and walk around for five minutes without having to look for a bin.” Paul reaches this point at about three in the afternoon, which is good—eggy bread is one of two things Patryck can cook successfully, and no one wants it for dinner. Tord, unfortunately, doesn’t until after dinner comes and goes. Tom is predictably a bit of a bitch the entire time, but he’s not completely unbearable. He still brings Tord tea and food, helps him get fresh air (and snuck him a couple cigarettes before Pat caught them.)

Ugh. He hates how long post moon sickness knocks him out. But, he can stand without passing out or hurling now. Which…

Which means he has to talk to the kid. 

His ears ring as he makes his way up the stairs, the lump in his throat seeming to swell. There’s so much he needs to know. So much he can’t understand, because who can? Is Tord even equipped to talk to him about this? Yeah, he went through the same thing, but that almost makes this harder.

When he reaches the top of the stairs he walks down the hall, stopping at the door. That anxious sickness starts to twist his stomach into knots, and he’s tugging at his hair as he stares at the doorknob. It should be easy, just go in there, talk to the kid, tell him...tell him what?

Tell him that whatever life he had before has been taken from him by a group of selfish monsters and he’ll never fully get it back? That he’s a monster, an animal, and that’s not his fault but that’s also not something he can change? That he’s going to spend the rest of his life terrified of being found by the people who did this to him, terrified of himself, and terrified for the end because he can’t even die properly now? 

What the  _ fuck _ is Tord supposed to tell him?

He feels so very small, now. He can’t quite breathe. He’s shaking horribly. So he turns around, and he half stumbles, half runs back down the stairs. Doesn’t stop as Patryck calls his name as he runs through the kitchen, grabs his keys and out the back door. He needs to go somewhere, anywhere. Just far away from here. Far enough away that he can breathe. 

He reaches his car, this beat up black sedan he’s had for a decade, and when he slides into the familiar leather seat and turns the key the panic abates a bit. But not enough to stop him from pulling out of the parking spot and hitting the gas to take him...he doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s acting on instinct, not conscious thought. 

The car stops in a parking lot. It’s one he recognizes as he gets out, and he processes what he’s doing: he’s going to Tesco’s, buying two bottles of Mavrodaphni and a pack of cigs for about £25, and drive up the way to Epping Forest, where he will get drunk and pass out in his car. An excellent plan. Perfect. Ripped straight from Tom’s playbook. Absolutely an adult way to deal with this. His therapist would be so proud.

He starts the process. Into the shop, buy the wine and smokes, out of the shop, into the car, and drive the 20 minutes to the forest. He finds a nice place to park it just off the road, and pops open one of the bottles of wine. It’s sweet. The taste of caramel and raisins overwhelms his tastebuds with how sweet it is. It goes straight to his head. 

He’s only a third of the way through the bottle and nearly done with his second cigarette when he hears knocking at the window and when he looks up Paul is there. He can’t...pretend he didn’t see him. Paul’s already made eye contact, motioning for him to unlock the door. Tord stupidly does. He knows it’s a stupid decision because Paul takes the wine away and checks how much he’s drunk the minute he gets in the car. 

“I was drinking that.”

“Yeah, and now you’re not. Or did you want to end up too drunk to drive home?”

“I wasn’t gonna drive!”

Paul gives him a look. “Right. I’m sure.”

Tord is not nearly fucked enough to handle this right now. He makes a grab for the bottle, which Paul easily keeps out of his reach. Damn those stupid tree trunk arms. “How’d you even find me?” 

“Kid, are you fucking with me? You always come here. You need to get a new spot if you don’t want to be found.” 

He’s right, and Tord hates that he’s right. He groans and rolls his eyes, going to light a third cig. They sit in the car in silence as Tord glares out the windshield. He can tell Paul is looking at him, expecting him to say something. It’s fucking irritating. Petty as Tord is, he’s not planning to give him what he wants any time soon. If Paul wants to talk,  _ he _ can talk. 

It’s another five minutes before the tense silence is broken. “So...why’d you run out on the kid?”

The irritation starts to seep out of him immediately, starting to be replaced by grief. He still doesn’t say anything, but he knows it’s clear on his face. 

“I know you have a reason, Tord.”

The words swell up in his chest and bubble out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

Tord struggles with how to put the reason into words. It’s hard to explain, even if he knows what it is. For his part, Paul has ungodly patience while he waits for Tord to speak again. It’s shaky when he does. Uncertain. “Because…when…I—I look at him, and there’s this…thing. This…this unspeakable thing that we both went through and I just…” Tord’s head makes contact with the steering wheel. “I look at him, and I’m that starved, sick 19 year old you and Patryck found on the side of the road. I’m scared and alone and small.”

God, he needs to pull it together. He feels tears start to well up in his vision as he grips the wheel so hard his knuckles go white.

“Tord—”

“And it’s stupid, isn’t it, because…because that was 12 fucking years ago. That was 12 years ago. But it still feels like someone punched the wind out of me.”

“Tord, hey, it’s not—”

“And what am I even supposed to tell him anyway?” He looks up at Paul, hating how his voice cracks, how wide and vulnerable his eyes look in the car mirror. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, kid, but the pieces of shit that did this to you took your life away forever’? What am I—” his voice breaks, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat that’s coming back. “I barely know him. I shouldn’t…be this worked up about all this. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Kid…” Paul sighs. He pushes his hand back through his hair. “…I don’t know what to tell you.”

Tord nods, turning his gaze back out the window. He can’t blame Paul for not knowing. It’d be silly to expect that. He wishes he did though. He really, truly does. 

“…what were you even planning to do out here?”

“Get plastered and sleep in my car.”

“That’s usually Tom’s M.O., isn’t it?” 

“Don’t—” Tord bites his lip, trying not to be territorial at the jab towards Tom. “Yes. It is.”

Paul nods thoughtfully, and holds out his hand. “Let’s have one of them cigs, then.” 

More silence as the two smoke, but it’s a little more comfortable, somehow. Maybe it’s because Tord spilled his guts. His therapist has told him holding that stuff in is poison. 

“If it matters, I think it makes sense you’re so gutted over this.”

“Yeah?”

Paul nods. “I mean, this is obviously bringing up bad shit for you. Triggering bad memories. Just makes sense is all.”

“Hadn’t thought of it like that.” The cig’s almost burnt out, now, and the thought of grinding it out on his hand blares into his mind like a truck. He inhales sharply, pushing it away into the ashtray a little quicker than would be normal. Whatever. No risk of going through with that thought now. He doesn’t light another one, though he badly wants to. 

“…I do think you should talk to him.”

There it is. 

“…I know.” Tord swallows hard. “Just…not tonight. Not now. I can’t.”

Paul nods, and there’s an understanding between them. He’ll talk to Yuu within the week. 

Tord dreads it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you want a French braid or just a normal three strand?”

Tord sighs. “You know I’m not fussed, Matt, just whatever keeps my hair out of my face is fine.”

Matt scoffs lightly, but Tord can feel his hands get to work weaving his hair into a braid. Normally he’d have his hair in horns, but seeing as how the last couple nights have been rough for him he hasn’t had the energy. Matt likes playing with his hair anyhow, and it keeps him busy while Tord goes over the books for the week.

God, he hates all this budgeting shit, but he’s the best at math, so it gets pushed on him. He can’t blame the others though. This is  _ hopelessly _ boring. 

Matt is chattering away in his ear about one thing or another. He’d be listening, he truly would be, but it’s taking more of his energy to focus on this than normal. He keeps drifting off and making basic mistakes. The numbers keep swimming in front of his vision regardless of whether he’s wearing his reading glasses or not. Dammit.

He tries to do the accounting for another five minutes before slamming the book shut and pushing it away. It’s causing a migraine that has him seeing stars. He’ll ask Pat to do this bullshit later.

With a sigh, he slumps back, head fully resting in Matt’s lap. “I’m so tired.”

“I can tell. Normally you’re done with this by now.” Matt continues to braid, eyes flicking up to look at Tord. “Is it about Yuu?”

“About me?”

“No,  _ Yuu _ .”

“Ah. Yuu.” Tord frowns. “I don’t know. But I have an appointment with Dr. Mabel tomorrow, that should help me get sorted.” 

“There we are.” Matt pulls a hair tie off his wrist to tie off the braid. “And I hope it does.”

Tord lets out a hum of agreement. The scent of his pack mate eases his tension a bit, as do the intermingling scents of the others ingrained in the old sofa. Even Tom’s.

Well. Tom’s more than eases his tension. But he tries not to think about that too much. It always ends with him a mess thinking about how Tom’s hair looks after he takes off his motorbike helmet or how he pulls off leather pants so well or some other such nonsense. 

Ah. He’s doing it again. 

Matt seems to pick up on it. Mercifully he keeps his remarks to himself, though Tord knows that’s not a gift he’ll give for long. As it is he’s giving him this knowing smirk, fangs gleaming. Tord feels his cheeks flare up. “Oh, piss off.”

The smirk grows. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You were thinking it.”

Tord cannot stay mad when Matt starts laughing, even as his embarrassment grows. He’s about to gently bop Matt on the forehead when he smells Tom. Actual Tom, not just the remnants left behind on the sofa. The smell is quickly followed by the sound of a motorbike outside, then the man himself walking through the door and the house into the living room. 

“Matt. Tord.” He nods. He lets his helmet, which Tord knows is really more so he doesn’t get pulled over than for any kind of safety measure, crash carelessly to the ground next to the sofa. He follows this up by collapsing into the cushions, whipping out his flask. 

“You look like a nerd.” He says. Tord rolls his eyes.

“At least I don’t look like I was dragged out of a gutter.” 

Tom snorts. “Wrong. You look like shit. What’s wrong?”

“He’s stressed over what he’s going to say to the kid.”

Oh, awesome, Matt’s just cutting out his normal deflection, then. Tord bristles at this fact, letting out an annoyed huff. He can’t deny it though. Matt’s right. Well, partially. But the two have some discretion, and Tom doesn’t need to know about Tord’s sleep or lack thereof.

The former rolls his eyes. “I don’t get why this is so stressful. Just, y’know, be like ‘hey, every full moon you turn into a big dog and get a massive hangover the next morning.’ There, done.”

Jesus, he wishes it were that simple. He doesn’t know how to tell Tom it isn’t. From the look on Matt’s face, he doesn’t either. And he wouldn’t dare tell Tom why, either. That’s for Tord to decide. The silence stretches, and Tom is slow to realize it’s an uncomfortable one. He clears his throat. “I’m guessing that’s not it, huh?”

Tord shakes his head. 

“You want to talk about it?”

Tord shakes his head again, getting to his feet. “You’re right though. I’m taking too long to talk to him. I should…do that. After a smoke.” The smallness is starting to creep in again. No running off this time, though, he’s promised himself that much. Just step outside for a quick cig and then go talk to the kid. 

His hands are trembling so terribly that he almost drops his lighter twice. Lighting up is more trouble than usual too. But that rush of nicotine helps a bit. Calms him just a hair. There’s still that urge to bolt. And other, less powerful urges. They get worse when he gets like this, but they can’t be helped, he supposes. As long as he doesn’t follow through on one of them, he’s okay. As distressing as they are, he’s okay. 

He thinks about what he’ll say. Plans it out in his head. He’ll tell him about what he went through, some of it at least. Tell him what his life’s going to be like. What changes to expect to his body and his mind. If the circumstances weren’t so awful he’d consider making the joke Paul did all those years ago—that it’s like an even eviller puberty. But it didn’t help Tord relax then, and he knows it wouldn’t help Yuu relax now. 

The cigarette is burnt out too soon. He stands there holding the butt like it’s going to suddenly be a fresh cigarette again. Well, maybe if Kim were around, it could, or if Tom were next to him and feeling kindly towards him.

But neither of those situations are his current one, and he can only stay out here for so long before someone comes to check that he’s not run off again. So he flicks it into the dumpster. 

Takes a deep breath in.

And steps back inside.

The walk upstairs stretches on. Time seems to stretch and distort, though he knows it isn’t, and it feels like it takes him days to get to the door to Yuu’s room. He doesn’t let himself have a moment to psych himself out. Instead he knocks straight away. There’s a moment of silent anxiety before he hears a soft “Come in.”

He does. Yuu is pale, his wide eyes and dark circles enough to betray his exhaustion and his fear, even if the white knuckled grip with which he clutches the blanket hadn’t tipped Tord off to the latter. Tord sighs softly, and gestures to the bed. “Is it okay if I sit?”

The blond nods. Tord makes an effort to keep his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s approaching a particularly skittish animal—in a way he is. He doesn’t want to scare the poor kid any more than he already is. They sit for a bit, Tord staring at the floor but seeing Yuu fidgeting with his blanket out of the corner of his eye. Neither of them seem to be able to meet the other’s eyes.

Finally, Tord says something. “So how old are you?”

“…19.”

Tord tries his best not to look saddened by that. He knew he had to be around that age, but he hates the confirmation. “I was too. University student?”

“Just finished my A-Levels.”

“Yeah?”

Yuu is visibly starting to relax a bit. “Physics and Maths.”

“Oh, fantastic, I took those too. You like that then?”

Yuu nods, and there we go. A tiny smile is eked out of him, and some of the tension has left his shoulders. Tord smiles a bit too, nodding thoughtfully. “I was starting university, before, well…” he touches his chest, his smile falling as quickly as it rose. “I was studying engineering.”

There’s a tiny little “oh” from Yuu. Tord continues, “I couldn’t bring myself to stay in after what happened. Fell into some bad habits, made some poor decisions to try and cope.” He finally, finally meets the boy’s gaze. “You’re going to do that too, regardless of whether you realize it’s a bad idea or not. Because your life is going to be  _ very _ difficult for a long time.”

Yuu blinks. “…what do you mean?”

“Well, there’s the trauma, for one. You think you’re going to get over it eventually. You won’t. This—this thing? That happened to you? This is going to affect you for the rest of your life. It’ll be different from the ways it affects me, maybe, but…” he trails off, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to guess it’s been hard to sleep with the lights off, or really at all. You’re probably not going to like having things tight around your neck like ties would be.

“And even if the trauma wasn’t a factor, there’s the lycanthropy, and well.” Tord brushes a loose strand of hair out of his face, scowling. “I really wish Paul was talking to you about this, but he didn’t get turned like you or I did. He wasn’t forced except by his own stupidity.”

“He didn’t seem—”

“He isn’t, but at the time he was 17, and he was drunk, and got dared to do something that, even if it hadn’t made him a werewolf, would have likely got him sick. That is, drink water out of a puddle in the woods. Unfortunately for him, that puddle was a wolf paw print, and it was a full moon. Unfortunately for us, that means I’m better suited to talk to you about the circumstances of your transformation.”

Yuu wrinkles his nose. “That’s a stupid way to become a werewolf.”

“You’re right, it is. Magic is a stupid, stupid thing. But as you are aware, the way you and I were turned is…different. We didn’t get a choice. It sucks. There are physical effects too—You have to deal with sickness after every full moon, you usually wake up with new scars because your wolf half either picked a fight or ran out of things to destroy and turned on itself. The transformation always hurts, and it actually wears your body quite a bit when you get older.” 

Tord watches the kid’s face fall, before quickly adding, “Luckily, those only happen once a month. There are some benefits, as well. You can see better in the dark, you have a heightened sense of smell, you’re faster and stronger.”

“So, like Wolverine.”

Tord pauses to think on it for a moment. It is a bit like Wolverine, huh? That’s funny. “Yes, exactly.” He chooses to confirm. 

Yuu seems satisfied with this explanation. He tilts his head. “Is there any way to get rid of it?”

And there it is. The question Tord wishes had any answer other than a resounding—“No. You can’t even die properly anymore, much less get rid of it.”

The confused, frightened look on Yuu’s face is back. Tord senses the question before it exits his mouth. “W-Why not?”

“When you die—and you will, and it will probably be painful, and you will be younger than you ever thought you’d be—you are going to wake up a few days later as a vampire. You never wondered these last few days about why Matt is so friendly with us? It’s because werewolves and vampires are close. Really close. In turning you into this, they also took away the only escape you might have had.”

Yuu falls silent again. There really have been a lot of long silences over the last few days, and not the comfortable kind Tord is used to. They’re tense. Like everyone is holding their breath. He hates it, even if he knows why it’s happening. 

Gently, he reaches out and pats Yuu on the shoulder. “Hey, I know this is a lot. I wish you didn’t have to know any of it. But you do, or you’re going to be even more scared and confused later.”

Then the kid starts to cry. It starts as a barely audible sniffle, then sobbing that causes his whole body to shake with the force of it. Tord withdraws his hand, bristling. He doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t Matt, he doesn’t know how best to comfort this person. He sits there like a deer in headlights, anxiety flaring up in him. Oh god. What did he do. 

“Uh…do you…need me to leave you alone?” Tord tries. Yuu shakes his head, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Awesome. He doesn’t get to leave this situation. Fantastic. Fuck, what does he do—physical touch works with Matt, maybe it’ll work with him? But what kind of touch? God, he’s been quiet for too long, he needs to do something.

He rests his hand on Yuu’s head. Just sets it there and doesn’t move it. Somehow, through some sort of divine intervention or something, that draws a shaky chuckle out of the boy. Oh Jesus, he’s a  _ boy _ . He’s almost a child, no matter how much people may protest otherwise. Children shouldn’t have to deal with things of this size.

As if reading his mind, Yuu speaks again, voice still thick with tears. “It’s too big.” He sniffs, looking up at Tord. “I don’t want this. It’s too big.”

What can Tord do but hug him?

It’s strange, how small he feels in Tord’s arms. Like if he squeezes just enough the boy could snap. One of his arms is enough to completely encircle him, so the other is on the back of his head, gently tangled in blonde hair. It takes Yuu a moment to react, but soon he’s hugging back, clutching Tord’s hoodie. He feels the wet spot growing on his chest. 

“I wish I could take it back. More than anything.” Tord murmurs. “If I had the power I would. It’s not fair.”

He lets Yuu cry into his chest. Things feel less awkward now he knows that what he’s doing is good. It eventually peters out into sniffles, and then Tord is letting him go to let him breathe. The kid scrubs his eyes with his hands, clearly trying to wipe tears away, but his eyes are still red and watery by the time he stops.

Tord sighs. “Do you have a place to go home to?”

Yuu nods, then the color drains from his face. “I...I don’t...what if…”

“Shh…I’ll take care of it. I’ll replace all the locks and the windows when you’re ready to go back. Till then you can stay here.” Tord stands up, ruffling his hair. “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

“Tord?”

Tord stops his movement to the door. “Yeah?”

“Am I gonna get to be okay again?”

Tord’s stomach drops, and he rests his head against the door, hand on the handle. “...I...don’t know.” 

He leaves. 


End file.
